


Grace

by kallistob



Series: Desire [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Character Turned Into Vampire, Desperate Picquery, Injured Percival, Kind Percival, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Non Consensual Turning, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Vampire Turning, Vampire!Credence, Victim!Percival, for either party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: Percival meets a young man in the dead of night and invites him home, fooled by his innocent appearance.





	Grace

                                 

 

* * *

 

Credence sucks in a breath. Cold slithers beneath his threadbare clothing, biting at his skin. For him, it feels like no more than a whisper, the mere brush of a lost sensation. He doesn’t have enough blood pumping through his veins to be truly bothered by the cold, which is why he stands there, alone. Night is falling on the city, and with it, snow. There is a stack of papers at Credence's feet. He shivers, looks down - dark eyelashes a stark contrast against pale marble cheeks. He hugs himself tightly, and waits.

“Are you lost, kid?”

He sees polished black boots first, slacks and the hem of a long coat. Leather gloves, and a scarlet silk scarf. Thin lips and heavy eyebrows frame a handsome face, contorted in what looks like concern. _For me_. The man need not be concerned for anyone except him tonight, but it is all part of the act.

Credence shakes his head, wet strands of hair curling near the right corner of his mouth. He tries to smile at the man, hunching his shoulders even more so. “M’f - f - fine, sir. Don’t b - bother yourself f - for me.”

“Mercy Lewis, you’re freezing.”

The kind, kind man takes off his scarf, and Credence blinks. The next moment it is pulled tight around his throat as the stranger knots it. Credence looks up at him, and licks his lips. He buries his nose in the soft material to inhale the man’s scent. _Cigarettes, stress and blood._

Credence alters his features then, just barely - making himself look younger, more appealing, more innocent. A perfect prey for the man who stands in front of him, twice his age, successful, with no woman’s scent beneath all his layers.

“What’s all this?” The stranger asks, shoe pointing at the stacks of papers at Credence’s feet. “Is it the reason why you’re staying here in spite of the cold?”

“Yes sir,” Credence admits quietly. “Leaflets. I have to distribute them all, or I --” He swallows. “I won’t be allowed supper tonight.”

The man’s frown deepens, his lips pinched into a thin line. “You’ll catch your death out there.”

“It doesn’t matter, sir,” Credence whispers, then adds a cough to it for good measure. “I prefer being sick to having no home.”

“Merlin. Listen, my boy.” The man pauses. “What’s your name?”

“Credence, sir.”

“Credence. Well, I'm Percival. Come with me.”

Credence hides his smirk in the scarf he was given. “Where to, sir?”

He sees the man hesitate, sees him consider his options. A restaurant? A speakeasy? _Home?_ Credence takes a step forward.

“Sir…” He lowers his voice then. “Please, help me. I don’t want to go back.”

Percival’s eyes go unfocused. “I --”

“Please.” Credence places his hand on Percival’s chest, ensuring his lure. He is taller than him. _Easier to hold him down that way._ “They all hate me.”

“Come with me,” Percival blurts out, obeying whims he can scarcely comprehend. “Come with me,” he repeats. “I’ll keep you safe, Credence.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” Credence says in a rush, wrapping his arms around the other man and hugging him tightly. Percival trembles, but his hands tentatively come up to rest on Credence’s back.

He smells so _good,_ and Credence is starving. “Please, take me home.”

“Anything you want, Credence,” Percival says shakily. “Anything you want.”

“Good.”

Credence wants. Wants to squeeze Percival’s head between clawed hands until his eyes roll back in his sockets, wants to split Percival in two and make himself a home inside his beating heart - a pearl born from pain. He calls to Credence, this man made of righteousness, calls to him and his mouth throbs, his gums ache and he _needs_ -

Needs to hold himself back just a little longer. Just a bit more. Percival is still clinging to him. They must look silly, two shadowed forms hugging each other in the middle of the street. He keeps very still, his stranger, his head tilted to the side to better accommodate Credence’s presence.

Credence noses at his throat, kisses him _there_ , drawing a shiver from the man. Delightful. He’s always loved this: being able to reduce people who once would have held power over him, to nothing more than a plea.

“You’re him.”

The words are broken, pronounced with difficulty, slurred as though Percival had been drugged and his tongue stuck to his palate. He pushes weakly at Credence, and the boy is too surprised to do anything but let him, even if he could easily crush the man against the nearest wall and take what he wants. He doesn’t. Percival steps back, away from him, unsteady feet a threat upon snow, and Credence smiles.

“Who am I, sir?”

Percival fights, struggling to carve himself a path through the haze in his own mind. He feels too heavy, limbs awkwardly disentangled from his body. The boy, _the killer_ , seems to become one with the snow as he looks at him, and Percival is not sure whether he was ever real. Drawing away from him feels like kicking feet in shallow waters to get back at the surface. As distance grows between them, his mind becomes sharper, cleverer, aware - and with it comes shock. Disbelief. _Fear._

“You’re my killer,” Percival says, fingers tight around his own neck for protection. This slip of a man, with the face of an angel, all pink cheeks and hopeful eyes.

He’d let himself fall like a rookie. Shame burns through him, along with the emptiness he feels, deepening with each step he takes.

He wants more. Part of him wants to go back to the way they were barely seconds ago, with Credence’s arms around him and his mouth pressing delicate kisses to Percival’s neck. He'd felt at peace. He’d not had to think, hadn't had to do anything but surrender. He shivers, shakes his head to clear it. His wand slips from the holster at his forearm, coming to rest in his hand. He narrows his eyes at Credence and sees red. The boy has his scarf.

Percival’s heart skips a beat.

_He has my scarf. Even if I run, he can track me, back to my home, he can follow me._

Fingers close around his neck. A breath, hot against the shell of his ear.

“Will you take me home?”

 _No, no, no,_ Percival wants to say, primal fear a vice in his throat, making him unable to speak, to attack, to protest. _I’m a dead man if I do, oh God, I’m dead -_

His body moves of its own accord, and he finds himself nodding at Credence. Once again he is struck by the marvel of this boy, seemingly sculpted by the Gods rather than made out of flesh and blood. The lure calls him under, and Percival offers his arm to Credence, who takes it with an almost shy smile.

He thinks of his home, of the foyer in front of the fireplace, and spins.

-

He comes to to an inhuman shriek. His mind spinning, he looks at Credence, who is howling in agony as light, protective magic tries to rip him to shred. The vampire twists, half raised up; his bones are boiling, he spits blood out of his mouth - fangs tearing his own lips as he bears with the pain. The sound of his screams splits Graves’ ears. Slowly, the realization of what's he's done comes to him.

There’s a vampire in his home, and Graves let him in.

In all his years of life and duty, this is the closest he has been to Death, and yet a strange calmness settles over him. He waits, staring, still dizzy with the effects of the lure.

His wards fight in his stead, electricity crackling through the air. His home unwilling to let a predator such as a vampire inside, no matter how much Percival may have wished for it. They attack Credence relentlessly. As he watches, darkness spills from the vampire’s wounds, liquid gaz dripping to the floor and spreading around him.

The vampire roars furiously, the sound dark and rumbling and old. Percival shudders in awe. Dimly, he knows he should be fearful, that he should run, that he should fight, but exhaustion is all he has left. Credence seems to grow, his magic engulfing the room. Thin tendrils of smoke seek out Graves. He does not have time to react before one of them wraps itself around his ankle and _pulls_. He falls on his back, shock stealing the air from his lungs.

Credence, or what used to be Credence, grins with all his teeth as Percival is dragged across the floor to meet him, and terror tears at Percival’s senses. He tries to scramble at anything he can reach, tries to avoid the inevitable, but it is useless. Within moments he is trapped within the belly of the beast: both Credence and him are surrounded by a storm of shadows, which light magic cannot touch. Graves is helpless.

His heart is too loud, too fast. Percival can only watch as though caught in a nightmare as the vampire crawls above him and pins him to the floor with inhuman strength, his weight crushing Percival. Credence leans down to place his head against Percival's chest, a rumbling purr escaping him as he hears the scattato beat of his heart. Terror only serves to attract the predator more.

Percival whimpers, _mercy,_ _mercy_ , but all Credence does is gag him with one clawed hand as he licks a long stripe from his collarbone up to the line of his jaw. Percival thrashes under him. Hands on Credence’s shoulders, he pushes back with everything he has, but Credence merely growls - low and deep. A warning. Percival stills, a sob escaping him. _Please._

Credence bites him.

Percival’s mouth opens on a scream and Credence plunges two fingers inside it, long nails scraping making his insides bleed. Graves bites down on them, hears the crunch of bones, hears Credence laughing. Fangs seek out his neck, tearing skin, snapping tendons, _grazing bones_. Graves’ mind goes blank. White hot pain courses through him as Credence tastes, rips, gorges himself on Percival’s blood, slowly bringing him to his death. He’s not slowing down, and Percival can’t do anything to stop him as he’s being devoured. There’s a fire burning inside him, an inferno starting at his shoulder and spreading down his body.

He moans weakly, clutches at Credence with the desperation of the damned. His vision dims, heaving breaths becoming slow and sluggish. Credence straightens up, straddling his lap - licking blood from his hands, messy and sated. Percival’s body twitches below him, blood pouring from his wound as he chokes. He feels numb, heat sipping out of his body with each weak thump of his heart. Credence smiles at him and leans down again, licking at his wound softly, like a cat would milk. Percival’s hands fall to his sides.

He tries to breathe, his gurgles and the wet sounds of little suckles filling the room. He feels more than he sees Credence loom above him once more. There's something wet and hot against his lips.

He’s being kissed goodbye.

-

Credence smiles at the dying man. He softly caresses Graves’ hair, lulling him to sleep as Percival draws his last breaths. He was delicious, thick and syrupy, rich with power. He wonders if Gellert ever had a meal as good as this one, but his Father barely talks about himself, and certainly not for mundane things such as feeding. He would have to ask Jacob.

Drunk on pleasure, he does not hear the voices outside his little cocoon of magic, deafening him to the outside world.

“What in Merlin’s name is _this_?!”

“On the count of three!” Madam Picquery barks, nostrils flaring. The Aurors nod grimly at her, wands trained at the bubbling mass of energy in front of them. They can feel Graves’ magical signature inside, but it’s fading, fading and they know they’re running out of time. “FIRE!”

Light spills from their wands, fed by fear and rage. Graves’ wards had flared with unusual activity that night, and Picquery had immediately called the best Aurors back from their home. This could only mean one thing - Percival was in grave danger, and she could only hope they wouldn’t be too late.

With their attack the smoke only grows, and a threatening growl resonates in the room, born from old blood and making each of their bones rattle. The feeling is so unsettling that it takes even Seraphina a moment to be herself again. She raises her hands shakily, calling to her own magic, glowing hot and fiery at her core. She will not let Percival _die_ . Whoever has him, they are powerful, but Seraphina is born from a family older than Merlin himself. Her eyes glow, milky white as she lets her magic wrap itself around the darkness and slowly smothers it. There is a cry from within, and she nods to the Aurors at her back - _get ready._

The cloud explodes in a thousand of little shards, debris floating through the air all around them. Seraphina steps forward. There are two men on the floor; one is unmoving, blank eyes staring at the ceiling. The other stands up and faces her, his chin drenched in blood. Cold fear grips her heart, and she hurls her energy at what looks like a young man. Given the state of Percival, she cannot imagine he is anything as sweet as he looks. He hisses and jumps to the side to avoid her spell, and she knows. _Vampire._

“Catch him,” she says to the Aurors.

They bypass her, a few of them throwing sickened glances at Percival’s body on the floor. Seraphina refuses to believe he is dead. He cannot be. She kneels next to him, his blood staining her pants a deep scarlet.

His neck is torn up, gaping, veins and muscles showing. She swallows with difficulty at the sight, her hands trembling as she places them on the injury after a quick cleaning spell.

If she hadn’t been President, Seraphina would have been a healer. She has the skills, the instinct and the power for it - she’d been told as much many times.

“ _Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera Sanentur…._ ”

Skin mends itself, little by little, but it is not enough, not nearly enough. They’re losing him. She repeats the words like a prayer, while half her mind is focused on sending a Patronus to the Auror she knows keeps the Dittany with her. _Stupid, stupid -_ why did she send all of them with the vampire? _Careless, careless,_ and Percival is dying --

Rapid footsteps behind her, and Auror Burney appears in front of her. He crouches and uncaps the bottle of Dittany essence,  pouring it carelessly over Percival’s wound.

“It’s not working,” McBurney says in horror, and Seraphina’s sees he's right. The wound is not healing, even as she repeats the healing spell again and again. Dittany is not working. _Why is it not working?_

“Vampire bites,” someone says quietly behind her. “I remember reading something about them - back in Illvermony. You can’t heal them through usual means. It’s something to do with their saliva.”

“What do we do then?!” Burney asks. “He’s dying !”

“Not yet,” Seraphina says, mouth dry. “Bring the vampire to me.”

“Madam President -”

“ _Now._ _Quickly_.”

They hurry. Two Aurors bring the vampire to her, holding him by each arm and forcing him to kneel in front of her and Percival’s body. He glares at her, silver ropes wrapped tightly around his torso, a gag in his mouth of the same material burning his lips, his teeth. Smoke curls where the silver touches his skin. It must be torment for him. _Good._

“Give me his hand,” she says.

The ropes readjust themselves around the vampire’s body, shifting and moving and drawing tears from his eyes. His right arm is pulled free, and Seraphina grips his wrist tightly, fingernails digging into his skin.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” she says through gritted teeth.

She pushes Credence towards her, bringing his bleeding palm in front of Percival’s ashen face. The vampire’s eyes widen when he understands what she intends to do, and he tries to draw back, a muffled sound of protest coming from his throat.

“Hold him down.”

The vampire thrashes, fear in his eyes, considerably weakened by the silver to do anything but struggle. He shakes his head, _no, no, no, please, you can't,_ but Seraphina doesn’t care. She hates herself. Percival will loathe her for making him this way, but at least he will live.

She slams Credence’s hand down over Percival’s mouth. Waits with bated breath for a change. It comes quickly. Percival’s eyelashes flutter, and his gaze becomes more focused, keen, _ravenous_. In one swift movement he sits up and latches at Credence’s palm, pushing Seraphina away. Relief floods through her. He is fine. He will live.

Credence whimpers, eyes puffy and red with tears as Percival keeps feeding on his blood to ensure his survival.

“What will we do with them?” Goldstein asks, voice small and fearful. “Director Graves…”

“Director Graves will live,” Seraphina says, swallowing against the lump in her throat. Credence closes his fist and Percival growls in protest but he lets go of him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looks back at Seraphina, his eyes are black pits.

“Phina,” he says, his voice low and rough - already that of a predator.

“Percival,” she says quietly.

Next to them, Credence is sobbing.

“ _Hurts_.” Percival falls to the floor, soulless eyes staring at her. “ _Hurts._ ”

“Sssh,” she says, standing up on shaky legs as he closes his eyes against the pain burning through him. In a few minutes, he will be howling as the poison, the vampire curse, spreads through him, changes him. His lungs will cease to function, his heart will stop beating, his cells will wither and die only to be be reborn anew, _stronger_ , his bones will harden to withstand any fall. He will cease being human.

She doesn’t think he will ever forgive her for saving his life.

“You’ll be fine, my love,” she still murmurs, heart breaking. “Rest now.”

Percival is clawing at his throat, leaving red lines on his skin. “H - _hurts_.”

“I know,” she says, unable to keep the tears from spilling hot and wet down her cheeks. “I know.”

Percival dies.

-

**Author's Note:**

> work edited but unbetaed, apologies for any mistakes. i'm not sure how i feel about this ?? i hope you liked it. if so, _please_ let me know  <3


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